I had to go back to where I was from. The beach, where the forest meets the ocean and the river lets in. In that golden autumn we were all forgotten. I hung my shirt on the back of my chair and it looked the same as it did on me, a trick that sometimes works on crows.

Categories: poetry, prose, writing

Tags: , , , ,

10 replies

  1. ‘…where the forest meets the ocean and the river lets in.’ That is one perfect piece of land-sea conjuring, Bill.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I hereby demand that you write a novel and end it with these lines. Or memoir. Either one will do. There just needs to be a book in front of these sentences.

    Liked by 3 people

  3. … or the beginning of a memoir/novel.

    Here, forest really only meets sea in the tropical north. Intemperate growth.

    Liked by 2 people

    • It’s a beautiful look, with the old growth forest on cliffsides/bluffs and overland trails. My favorite hiking spot is that, with rope ladders too. Sounds unreal but it’s not!

      Liked by 2 people

Leave a comment!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: